


If my Heart was a House

by palavapeite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, New Year's Ever at the Burrow, New Year's Kiss, Secret Relationship, Shameless fluff and cuteness, with food and all the weasleys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/pseuds/palavapeite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Year's Eve, 2005/06. The Burrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If my Heart was a House

**Author's Note:**

> I orphaned Oliver. His parents died sometime back in 2000, roughly. Not that it's important or anything. 
> 
> Title is shamelessly stolen from Owl City.
> 
> Thanks go, as always, to [nerakrose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose) for the beta.

It wasn't until Victoire pulled James's elbow out of his unfinished dessert and wrinkled her nose at it that Molly Weasley declared dinner over and began to clear the table of the dishes it was currently bending under. Chuckling as she scooped up her firstborn son, who was sleeping soundly through the chatter and laughter of New Year's Eve at the Burrow, a very pregnant Ginny made to carry him upstairs into one of the numerous bedrooms, closely followed by Harry, whose cheeks had acquired a pink glow that, he explained, was entirely to blame on the heat and not at all on the punch.

“I don't have to go to bed yet, do I, maman?” Victoire asked quickly, sounding like she almost regretted having directed attention to her younger cousin as the adults around her rose to leave the dining room. She looked about anxiously, eyes wide to illustrate her state of wakefulness.

“Not yet,” Fleur smiled and Victoire sighed happily, handing her plate to Molly politely before running to sit between her Dad and Uncle Ron on the sofa in the living room.

“You can leave as well,” Molly gestured at Fleur and Hermione, who made to help her sort the dishes into the sink. “Hush! And take George and Oliver with you, no lingering about the doorway! There's more punch and cookies in the living room! I can handle this... _go away, Oliver!_ ”

“All right, all right,” the young man gave up, quickly putting his glass into the sink before raising both hands defensively and backing off. Molly shook her head good-naturedly and flicked her wand at the sponges that jumped to life and began to do the washing up.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, though,” Oliver smiled when Molly shooed him into the living room. “Really, I mean I know this is family and all...”

“Oh, shush,” Molly chuckled, grabbing George, who was still leaning in the door frame, by the tie and dragging him along behind her as she followed behind Oliver. “Don't be silly, dear-”

“Yeah, you know Mum never could resist famous orphans,” George grinned, clutching at his throat as the tie tightened around it. “Needs to make them part of the family and marry them to one of her children before anyone else gets the chance to- ouch! _Mother!_ Watch where you pull me, that hurt!”

“Serves you right,” Molly replied, looking very smug. George rubbed his elbow where it had hit the sharp edge of a cupboard and smirked. Oliver grinned and entered the living room, that looked ready to burst with Weasleys, even though it had been magically enhanced to accommodate another sofa and a couple of armchairs. Hermione and Fleur had squeezed themselves onto the sofa Ron and Bill were sitting on and Victoire lay curled up across her parents' laps. Charlie and Arthur had sat down in an armchair each and Angelina Johnson was nursing her drink leaning by the window. George slid into the room behind his mother and fled into a corner, where Percy was rummaging around in his pockets looking for something.

“Oliver!” Bill called, raising his glass. “Charlie just told me you're retiring from Quidditch? Don't break my heart here, who am I supposed to get free tickets from now?”

“You know, your sister used to be a decent enough player, maybe you could ask her,” Ginny's amused voice was audible as she and Harry re-entered from getting James to bed.

“Yeah, but you were on a _girly_ team,” Charlie teased. “We need someone in the top league.”

Ginny glowered at her older brother and Oliver blushed, thankful to accept the full glass of punch Harry shoved into his hands.

“If he knew. Wouldn't want to go see another one of those 'girly games',” Harry muttered conspiratorially, eyeing Ginny carefully as he spoke to Oliver. “I swear, those women can tear you to shreds if you don't watch out... Ginny had them all over for the baby party, back when James was born...”

Oliver chuckled and clinked his glass against Harry's.

“Tell me about it,” he replied. “We played them once; I left the field with a concussion...”

“Are you really quitting?” Angelina asked Oliver, eyebrows raised in surprise, and he shrugged.

“Well, I'm thirty,” he coughed. “For pro Quidditch that's kind of... the age at which you start being one of those old farts who can't accept that their golden days are past...”

Molly tutted and shook her head vehemently. Oliver shrugged again.

“I don't know. I mean, I got to play for England in the World Cup and all, so it's not like it hasn't been going good so far, but, you know...”

“Hum, fair enough,” Angelina nodded, grimacing. “Suppose there's not much left to go for now, other than breaking your bones, huh?”

“Exactly,” Oliver laughed and took a sip of punch. “I mean, my back and my right leg are already sort of-”

“Don't!” Ron suddenly cried and all heads turned. He was sitting to a pregnant Hermione and glared at her, index finger raised. “Don't say it!”

“I wasn't-” she began, but he cut her off.

“You absolutely were!” he glared. “I know that look! It's a Percy look! It's that look you have before you start a petition against superfluous violence at Quidditch or something!”

“Well, you have to admit that the rules as they are now-”

“NO!”

“But it's the ministry's duty to-”

“ _NO!_ ”

Exasperated, Hermione looked at the front of Weasley men who stared daggers at her and after a short moment she huffed and hugged her cup of tea closer. Ron put an arm around her and smugly kissed her hair.

“We don't tell you how to run your ministry and you stay off our Quidditch pitch,” he grinned and Hermione rolled her eyes, leaning into his embrace.

“No child of mine will play Quidditch on your pitch,” she muttered and Ron patted her shoulder, wearing a distinct 'we'll-see-about-that' expression.

“But what are you going to do now?” Molly asked a chuckling Oliver, a hint of worry in her voice, and Arthur laughed as he pulled his wife into his lap.

“You know, Mum, as an internationally known Quidditch player who won us the last World Cup,” Ginny giggled, “I don't think he's going to starve.”

“Well,” Oliver blushed. “Not right away, anyhow.” He gave Molly a flattered smile for her concern and shrugged. “For now I still have this season to finish and then... I don't know. I've been looking around, thinking about a couple of options...”

“As long as you don't try to snag my Quidditch column at the Prophet,” Angelina grinned. “Marcus Flint tried to and he could tell you first-hand how that was not a good idea...”

“Noted,” Oliver chuckled. “Not exactly a journalist, anyway...”

“Reckon they'd give you a position as coach any day if you asked for one, right?” Harry asked and Oliver nodded.

“Yeah, I guess. But yeah, I don't know. National league doesn't really tempt me much-”

“Whoa, you going international, then?” Ron gaped excitedly and Oliver laughed.

“Merlin, no. Like the international league would be waiting for _me_ , of all people.” Chuckles filled the room and Oliver shook his head. “Nah, I've been thinking, maybe I want to coach junior teams or something. A little more small scale. More humane working hours and less travelling...”

“That sounds like you might want to settle down with a nice someone?” Molly prompted and a loud groan came from the mouths of her children.

“Mum, can you stop trying to get everyone in- and outside the family married?” Charlie asked, pointedly refilling his whiskey glass and Molly tutted.

“Well, I've given up on _you_ , haven't I? I'm just saying...” She looked at Oliver encouragingly. “I mean, it wouldn't be all bad, would it?”

“I haven't really thought about that,” Oliver muttered neutrally and hid himself behind his glass as he emptied it.

“That's a really lovely idea, though,” Hermione tried to save the situation. “Working with young players and teams, I mean – I think there's even some ministry-funded project for that...”

“What, you mean you don't know for sure?” Harry teased her and Ron chuckled.

“Well, it's not my department, is it?” Hermione replied crossly. Harry and Ron exchanged a Look.

“I know, there are a couple of small, local teams,” Oliver cleared his throat, which diverted Hermione's attention from scolding her husband. “Percy pulled a couple of strings in his office and his secretary sent me a bunch of brochures and documents...”

“Yeah, I was about to say,” Hermione nodded. “His department is probably better connected as far as this sort of stuff is concerned...”

“Talking about Percy,” Molly suddenly interrupted, looking around the room. “Where is he? And George? Wasn't he here a minute ago?”

“Upstairs having a smoke,” Charlie replied flatly and Molly's expression darkened.

“I really wish they would give up this atrocious habit...”

“Don't look at me!” Charlie protested, cheeks red. “I stopped smoking after the speech you gave me last year...!” Molly looked vaguely smug and Charlie added under his breath, “And have taken to shooting up dragon piss instead...”

“Charles!” Fleur cried, clapping her ears over Victoire's ears. Bill had the decency to look faintly scandalised, everyone else was chortling into their drinks. Victoire, who had been almost asleep, blinked in confusion.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Fleur replied hurriedly, handing her daughter to Bill, who was getting up and took her onto his arm.

“Let's get you to bed, huh?” he smiled and Victoire looked like she wanted to protest, when a huge yawn overtook her and she had to admit that, probably, nobody would believe her if she insisted she wasn't tired. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rested her head on her Dad's shoulder.

Meanwhile, the conversation was fully focused on Charlie and his apparent incapability to behave himself in front of little children.

“For Merlin's sake, Charlie, with the amount of younger siblings you have...” Molly launched into a rather half-hearted tirade.

“It was a _joke_ , Mum...!”

“Your sense of humour is questionable at best, then...”

“You look like you've had too much punch,” Bill grinned when he passed Oliver, who nodded sheepishly. His face did feel rather hot and, putting his glass down, he followed Bill up the stairs to escape the heat of the room and the buzz of the many agitated voices.

They'd made it halfway up the first flight of stairs when George came tumbling their way, rubbing his arms and apparently chuckling about a joke he'd just heard.

“Cold as hell out there,” he breathed. “Should've taken my coat... oi, goodnight, princess!”

“Goodnight, Uncle George,” Victoire muttered and sleepily hugged both George and Oliver goodnight before Bill carried her off into the room where James was already sleeping soundly.

“Where are you heading, then?” George nudged Oliver, who held on to the banister for support.

“Fresh air,” he muttered and George chuckled.

“Harry spike your punch, too?”

“What?” Oliver blinked, but George had already thundered past him and was calling for Angelina as he re-entered the living room. Shaking his head, Oliver climbed the rest of the stairs until he reached the small balcony that one of the Weasleys – either Bill or Ron, he couldn't remember – had attached to the Burrow at some point in a flight of fancy.

George had been right; it really was freaking cold.

“You look like you've had too much booze,” Percy's amused voice reached Oliver's ear and he turned to see the other man leaning against the crooked balustrade.

“Harry spiked my drink.”

“Again?”

“Yes.” Oliver stepped up next to Percy and followed his gaze out into the night. “Plus, upon hearing the news of my quitting Quidditch, your mother insisted on trying to find me a decent spouse to settle down with, so I thought I'd disappear until the subject had changed...”

“Oh, she'll get back to it, don't you worry,” Percy grinned. “She never gave it a rest until Harry and Ginny married, after all. The only people she seems to have given up on are Charlie and me.” He flicked the cigarette butt he'd been holding down into the snow.

“Are you staying here for the night?” Oliver asked and a smile curled at Percy's lips.

“No. I don't think there's any space left, actually. James and Victoire have taken up residence in my room and I'm definitely not sharing with Charlie – he mentioned something about dragon piss at dinner and I don't really care to find out how serious exactly he was... And all the other rooms are taken.”

“I think so, yeah,” Oliver smiled. “Well, that's what you get with all you Weasley children suddenly popping out children yourselves...”

“Bless them. Looks like Charlie and I are the only ones who've given the limited space in this house a moment of thought,” Percy grinned.

“For different reasons, though,” Oliver objected quietly and Percy glanced at the Quidditch player as he stood beside him and leaned onto the wooden railing, shoulders pulled up against the cold.

“Yes.”

They looked out onto the snowy fields that surrounded the Burrow. The night sky was dark and covered, only a couple of stars shone through the occasional patch in the thick, black clouds.

“I just told them before, but I think you were already gone,” Oliver cleared his throat. “I might work with the junior teams you got me brochures on.”

Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them looked down as their hands quietly met and their fingers intertwined, resting on the railing.

“I didn't think you'd actually look at those pamphlets,” Percy said a little dryly and Oliver chuckled.

“Because they came without pictures? What, do you think I'm some sort of imbecile who can't read?”

“Well, you have this uncanny habit of not seeing it whenever I leave you a note that says 'take the laundry off the rack' or 'get milk on your way home'...” Percy smirked and Oliver gave him a light shove.

A pleasant silence fell and Oliver smiled when he felt Percy's thumb draw light circles on the back of his hand.

“I didn't know you were that serious about it,” Percy eventually replied, glancing at Oliver. “I'd have expected you to go for something more prestigious. National team. Or whatever it is you do...”

“' _Whatever it is I do?_ ' Gee, thanks.” Oliver replied flatly, then hesitated. “I was... well, I thought I might be going for something that involved less travelling and less... less time spent away,” he muttered, looking down at their hands. “You know, I wondered whether maybe you put those folders in with the rest...”

He fell silent and it grew quiet again; only faint laughter from downstairs was audible. Smiling calmly to themselves, they stood ankles deep in the snow, little puffs of smoke leaving their noses as they breathed.

“It's been six years, Percy,” Oliver eventually whispered and Percy squeezed his hand.

“I know.”

“Shouldn't we tell them sometime?”

They turned towards each other and Oliver grimaced.

“You know, New Year's is somewhat turning into of a farce.”

“Is that why you spent last year’s at St. Mungo's with a broken spine?” Percy teased. “Mum was rather close to moving the whole party to the Quidditch Rehab ward, you know...”

They shared a moment of amusement at the eagerness with which Molly had adopted Oliver after his parents had died, and Oliver shrugged, shifting a little closer, licking his lips.

“I know we said we'd keep it low because... well, because of our jobs and...” He sighed. “But now my days as a pro player are counted-”

“Yes, but mine as head of my department at the ministry are not, I should hope,” Percy replied, a little obstinately, and Oliver rolled his eyes at the hint of cheek in Percy's eyes.

“As if anyone at the ministry could do without you at this point. With Hermione and Harry and Bill there... you Weasleys practically _run_ the place...”

Percy raised an amused eyebrow and Oliver pulled him close enough for the fronts of their jackets to touch.

“When I retire,” he began quietly, “I want to give up that dusty flat-”

“Wouldn't be so dusty if you cleaned it every now and then.”

“Why should I if you take care of that as soon as my arse is out of the door...?”

“I have to because you never do.”

“I haven't stayed in that flat in years,” Oliver retorted and Percy rolled his eyes. Oliver brushed his nose against the tip of Percy's. “I want to live with you.”

“Judging from the number of your dirty socks on my bedroom floor, you kind of already are,” Percy smiled, nudging Oliver's nose back.

“I stay at your place,” Oliver corrected, ignoring the comment on his socks. “It's too small for me to move in for real.”

“So you-”

“I want a place for you and me,” Oliver whispered. “And I want to live there with you.” He paused and swallowed. “I mean I...” He caught Percy's gaze and hesitated. “This is forever... isn't it?”

Percy returned his look for a moment, never blinking.

“Yes,” he muttered eventually, eyes trailing across Oliver's face a little absent-mindedly. A smile tugged at his lips when their eyes met again. “This is forever.”

For a while they said nothing, merely smiled at each other quietly, each taking the time to relish in the familiar, treasured feeling they felt inside.

“Please let’s tell them,” Oliver whispered, arms slowly finding their way around Percy's body. “I don't mean ' _right now_ ',” he added quickly. “I'm not going to move tomorrow, or next week, or next month, even...”

“No, you're right. I suppose I could,” Percy muttered, a little lost in thought. “Eventually.”

“...But?” Oliver anticipated, rolling his eyes and giving his lover a pointed look.

“But what if I don't?” Percy asked. Oliver held his gaze for a moment, then cocked his head and shrugged.

“Well, nothing.”

“You're not going to leave me and find someone else?” Percy narrowed his eyes sharply, a hint of teasing suspicion flickering in them.

“No,” Oliver laughed and Percy, too, had to smile. Oliver shook his head exasperatedly. “We've survived worse than that; Merlin knows we did...”

“Like that one time you didn't make the national team?” Percy asked dryly and Oliver stuck out his tongue.

“And that one time I did,” he added, tightening his grip around Percy's waist. “And that one time you didn't get the promotion you thought you deserved...”

“I bloody well did deserve it!” Percy protested and Oliver grinned.

“I suppose that's why you got it the second time around.”

“...Well, I promise I won't make you sleep on the sofa again,” Percy muttered and sighed deeply, looking woebegone. “You know that Mum will give me hell for not telling her earlier...”

“I think Ginny knows,” Oliver replied quietly and Percy cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“I'm not entirely sure. But there's times when she gives me that look and...”

“Well,” Percy interrupted. “I suppose we'll find out.”

“We will?”

“Yeah, I... I've been thinking for a while,” Percy shrugged. “And if you want it too, then... well...”

Smiling, Oliver leaned in and Percy's shoulders suddenly tensed slightly, hand resting on Oliver's chest, keeping him away a little.

“You know, but I'd rather not be caught snogging you on the balcony while eve-”

“Like we wouldn't hear someone come up the stairs,” Oliver cut him off and kissed him.

Wrapping their arms around each other, they were aware that this wasn't the best kiss they'd ever had; Oliver tasted of spiked punch and Percy of the cigarette he'd smoked. It was cold and their feet were somewhat wet from the snow that nobody had bothered to shovel off the balcony.

It was a little like that one time, Oliver thought, when Percy had got up at the crack of dawn and done nothing but drink coffee and smoke one cigarette after the other, waiting for the mail to arrive and deliver the promotion letter that hadn't come. And the time Puddlemere United had only just won the national cup, and Oliver had been drunk enough to accidentally bathe the entire bed in champagne. The numerous times at night during their first years together, when Percy had claimed the whole blanket for himself, until Oliver, sick of freezing, had brought his own to save himself the argument. Or the time when Oliver had run out of clean socks and had had to snag a semi-dry pair off the drying rack, much to Percy's amusement...

The creaking of a floorboard caused Percy to break the kiss and move away, although, as Oliver noticed, not as quickly as someone who'd just been caught in flagrante delicto might have done it. Blinking, they narrowed their eyes at the figure that stood in the door that led onto the balcony, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

“'ncle Percy?”

“James?” Percy breathed in surprise, stepping away from Oliver to quickly pick up the boy, who was barefoot. “What are you doing here, and in your pyjamas?”

“Is it the new year yet?” James asked, looking at Oliver and then up at the sky. Percy chuckled, rubbing James's back and shaking his head. “No, not yet. You still have to sleep a little more before it's the new year.”

“It's cold,” James muttered and Percy chuckled.

“Of course it's cold,” he explained as he carried the boy back inside. “It's winter, after all. So what do you say, we take you back to bed, hm?”

“But Vicky snores,” James protested and Oliver giggled as he followed them into Percy's old bedroom where Victoire was indeed snoring, albeit rather gently.

“Well, maybe we can do some magic,” Percy said as he put his nephew down and James's eyes lit up. “And I can put a Silencing Charm up, how's that sound?”

“Yes, please!” James replied excitedly.

“Shh, but you have to promise to sleep, like a good boy,” Percy said as he covered James with his blanket. “No wandering around; that will break the spell!”

“Promise,” James assured him and Percy nodded solemnly as he pulled his wand.

“Let's see, then... are you sure you won't be scared?”

“Very sure!”

“Well, close your eyes, then.”

“But I want to see...!”

“Oh, but it doesn't work like that, James...”

Leaning in the door and watching the scene, Oliver quietly smiled to himself.

The End


End file.
